


I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus

by dizzzylu



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, Holidays, Kid Fic, M/M, Schmoop, Snuggling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:45:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzzylu/pseuds/dizzzylu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Eames, why is Henry wearing his hat in the bathtub?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus

**Author's Note:**

> A Christmas ficlet for blue_fjords, whose prompts were _specificity, hat, and bubbles_. Sorry I could only get two out of three! Thank you to S for all the help!  <3

It's well past dark by the time Arthur arrives home, the final pieces of his Christmas shopping dangling from one hand. The first floor of the house is dim and quiet as he slips out of his shoes and tucks away his scarf and gloves. The sounds of sloshing water and a giggling five year old drift down the stairs and he takes the opportunity to stash his bag in the safe in his office, his moleskine and Glock, too, before heading up the stairs, two at a time.

"Eames, why is Henry wearing his hat in the bathtub?" Arthur asks, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. He watches Henry in mild amusement, the ends of his dark curls damp and peeking out from underneath a red and neon green knit hat. It's a too big for his head yet, so the bobble waves wildly every time Henry swishes an arm through the drifts of bubbles around him. He seems to be having a good time, though, if his toothy grin and bottomless dimples are any indication.

Eames is sitting on the floor, back against the wall, with his shirtsleeves rolled up. Almost the entire front of his shirt is soaking wet. The knees of his slacks, too. He looks the way Arthur feels: content.

"Philly made it, papa!" Henry explains through a flourish of bubbles.

"Ah," Arthur nods, smile softening. "Of course she did."

Eames looks at Arthur knowingly. "Poor lad is absolutely besotted. Couldn't get it off him."

Arthur lifts one shoulder in a shrug; he would've done the same thing. "Where's Olivia?"

"In her crib, completely knackered." He peeks around Arthur's hip. "Was the day a success?"

Arthur narrows his eyes and shifts to cross his legs. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Eames sniffs and glances over at Henry, who is pushing an entirely age-inappropriate yacht through the banks of bubbles, and says, "I hope you didn't put it in your safe."

Arthur sighs and his hands come up to loosen his tie, his slim fingers deft with the knot. "I know you won't, Eames. You like surprises to much." When it comes to gifts, Eames is far more the kid than Henry could ever hope to be. On one hand, Arthur knows, Eames is dying of curiosity. On the other, he would end up in a sulk on Christmas morning, having ruined the surprise for himself.

Eames doesn't reply though, choosing instead to swirl his hand through a thick cloud of bubbles and smear them over Henry's nose. His squeaky giggles are infectious and settle warm behind Arthur's ribs.

"Almost time to get out, buddy," Arthur declares, unbuttoning his shirt cuffs to roll up the sleeves. "You want to be in bed before Santa gets here, right?"

Henry pops up, as if on springs, and hops out of the tub before Eames can scrabble to his feet. Arthur catches him, soapy and slick, by the shoulders and steers him back toward Eames, who has a towel held open and waiting. Arthur allows himself a moment to watch Eames envelop Henry in a giant, growling bear hug, then sets off for the nursery.

Soft music plays in one corner. In the other, a ladybug nightlight turns the walls and the ceiling into a bright, starlit night. The crib stands in front of a backdrop of lush trees and dangling monkeys, and from the door, Arthur can see the occasional shift of a tiny, socked foot.

"You're supposed to be asleep," he whispers as he approaches, grabbing a burp cloth on his way. Olivia looks up at him, blue eyes wide, and points a slobbery finger at the twinkling lights as if they're to blame for her being awake. "Tell me another story," he says, scooping her up with gentle hands, her head cradled in his palm. She coos at him, smiling, and pokes the same finger in one of his dimples. He bumps her nose with his and presses a kiss to her chin, just to hear her giggle.

"What's this?" Eames asks, trying to look offended. The effect is ruined by a sleepy Henry doing his best impression of a starfish over Eames' chest.

Arthur smirks at him. "Knackered, huh?" He tucks Olivia against him, soft hair tickling his neck, and wraps her teddy bear blanket around her. She lets out a heavy sigh and seems to gain ten pounds in an instant.

"Taking after your daddy already, I see," says Eames, voice thick with his pout.

Arthur thumbs at the crease between Eames' brows and sighs, a little smug. "She can't help it if she wants to see her papa."

Eames' pout deepens. "Little girls are supposed to like their daddies best."

"I like you best, Daddy," Henry pipes up around a yawn, voice muffled by Eames' chest.

"It's because you call him Hank," Arthur whispers against Eames' ear, nipping at the lobe.

Eames chuckles softly and follows Arthur from the room. "I'll get the cookies, you get the book," he says, heading for the stairs as Arthur turns into Henry's room. In his arm, Olivia gnaws on a corner of the blanket, quietly babbling to herself. Arthur can hear the low rumble of Eames' voice drift up the stairs, echoed by Henry's bright exuberance, and smiles. The book he's searching for is right where it always is; on the highest shelf, safe from tiny, destructive fingers. Arthur rubs a thumb over the raised trees on its cover.

Soon enough, Henry comes racing up the stairs and down the hall, yelling, "Mush, mush!" to an invisible sleigh in front of him. He gallops to a stop at the end of the bed and is careful to not jostle Olivia when he climbs in.

"You remembered the carrots, right?" Arthur asks quietly, fingers stroking over Olivia's silky hair. Her blinks grow longer, her breathing deeper, and Arthur nods at the silent question in Henry's eyes; bracing one open palm on Arthur's knee, Henry pushes a wisp of hair from Olivia's forehead and leans over to brush a kiss to her cheek. She turns into the sensation, eyelids heavy, plush pink lips smacking wetly. Arthur sees Eames watching from the door, smile soft and warm.

"Of course we remembered the carrots, right Hank?" Eames says, grabbing Henry around the waist and lifting him up. Sitting in the space left behind, Eames presses close to Arthur so that they touch from shoulder to wrist and gently body slams a flailing Henry to the bed. He lands flat on his back with a squeal, framed by Eames legs, and devolves into bright, breathless giggles under Eames' relentless tickling. Arthur tries to shush them, to keep Olivia from startling awake, but it's half-hearted at best.

Eventually they settle, Henry snug between them both, and Eames takes the book from Arthur, clearing his throat. Arthur sinks against the wall just as Henry relaxes into him, the air around them warm and cozy. Eames reading ' _Twas the Night Before Christmas_ ' in his soothing, low tone makes even Arthur's eyes droop, so it doesn't take long for Henry to drop off, too.

After the book is done, Eames eases Henry underneath the sheets while Arthur sets Olivia back in her crib, and they both meet back in the bedroom and share a soft, lazy kiss for the first time that day. Eames pulls away first to catch his breath and steers Arthur backward. Exhaustion makes him collapse the second his knees hit the bed, dropping in a heap. Eames blinks once, lips still wet from their kiss, and looks at the empty hands that were only a second ago gripping Arthur's hips.

"Sorry," Arthur murmurs, head tipping forward to rest against Eames' stomach. A moment later, warm, broad hands are spearing through his hair, loosening the carefully slicked back style. It won't return to the soft curls until Arthur showers, but it feels good regardless, blunt fingernails scratching along his scalp in long, slow lines. The heavy, spicy scent of Eames surrounding Arthur is nice, too. The familiarity of it helping to take the edge off the day.

After a handful of minutes, Eames curls a palm around Arthur's nape to draw his head back; looks into his eyes and says, "Why don't you lie down, yeah?" His thumb presses against the soft spot behind Arthur's ear, not hard enough to turn his bones to liquid, but enough to send a series of shivers down his spine.

"But the presents," he protests, even while he draws his legs onto the bed, curls into Eames when he gets in from the other side.

"Oh Arthur," says Eames, voice far too fond. Arthur would protest if the heat of Eames' body weren't already soaking into his bones, warming him from the inside out. "You stay here for a short lie down, I'll fix a little egg nog with our whiskey, get a good fire started in the fireplace, and then we can have a go in front of the tree. _Then_ we can put their presents out."

"I am _not_ fucking you in front of the Christmas tree, Eames." Arthur tries to scowl, but it's ruined by his closed eyes and wide yawn. Eames takes the opportunity to loosen Arthur's tie and pop open a few buttons. Despite himself, Arthur scoots closer, throws a leg over Eames'.

Eames uses one finger to draw a line down Arthur's spine, following the curve of it until he can palm the swell of Arthur's ass. "Not even if I wear the [Santa pants](http://www.loverslane.com/Holiday/Holiday-Lingerie/St-Dick-Set.axd)?" he asks, voice low and dirty, directly into Arthur's ear. "I even managed to find the hat."

" _Especially_ if you wear the Santa-themed boxers." Arthur puncuates his resolve with a soft punch to Eames' chest.

"Whatever you say, darling," Eames chuckles. "Whatever you say."

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes part in a 'verse I discussed with about a month ago. I don't know why or how the idea came to me, Arthur and Eames with kids, but it did. In the shower, where is where I get my best (or worst) ideas. Afterward I was done, I sat down at my desk and banged out a bunch of tiny moments into an email for her -- Oh, right! She needed cheering up at the time. For...reasons. Anyway, she liked it and begged for more and I said, "Are you nuts?!? I'm in the middle of writing a big bang!" I still have the notes, though, and will probably write that fic someday, just because I like the idea of it so much.


End file.
